


Root Beer Float

by neveralarch



Category: The Happytime Murders (2018)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 20:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17148800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: Phil and Connie have a celebratory drink after cracking their first new case. It ends pretty much exactly like you'd expect.





	Root Beer Float

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chase_acow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_acow/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, chase_acow! 
> 
> This fic contains canon-typical comedy substance use/abuse and some gross humor. Please let me know if you need details.

"This is a nice bar," said Phil.

"I know, I got it the first three times." Connie bent to pull on the door handle.

"I'm serious." Phil poked Connie in the side. "Eighty different syrups. Rock candy swizzle sticks. Maybe even Nutella."

"Stop it, you're making my mouth water."

"We're going to have one drink," said Phil. "To celebrate closing our first new case. And then we're going to leave. We're not going to start any fights. We're not going to snort anything. We're going to be nice respectable cops."

"Right." Connie pushed Phil inside. "You're buying."

\---

They sat at the bar. It was puppet-sized, so when Connie sat down her knees were almost at her ears. The bartender stared at her, which conveniently put him in ordering distance.

"Tonic water and simple syrup," said Phil.

"Root beer float," said Connie. "Ow! Don't punch me."

"I said one drink." Phil held his hand up to the bartender, telling him to wait. "I explicitly said we weren't going on a bender."

"That is one drink." Connie glared at him. "Did you sew brass knuckles into your hands?"

"I need to see ID," said the bartender.

They both pulled out their badges. You had to live for the little moments. The bartender actually jumped to attention.

"Tonic and syrup," said Connie. "And a root beer float. Thanks. He's buying."

Phil sighed. "You're killing me, Connie."

I'm, like, five times your size," said Connie. "I can handle my sugar."

"I know you can handle it, you've had a lot of practice. It's how I'm going to handle you that's worrying me."

"Whatever." Connie pulled out a candy cigarette packet. "Are you still allowed to smoke in here?"

\---

Sometimes Phil got tired of being right.

"You didn't have to punch that guy," he said. Slurred. Mumbled. Something like that.

"He was looking at me funny." Connie dragged Phil upright. "Anyway, you're drunker than I am. You're _drowned_. You need to stop doing shots straight from the syrup bottle."

"Well, once you knocked the bartender out, all eighty flavors were right there..." Phil took off his hat and fanned himself with it, trying to get some clear air in his lungs. "How much further?"

"About a mile." Connie lurched forward, pulling Phil with her. "This'd be a lot faster if we could get a cab."

"You puked in the last one." Phil took the next step, trying and failing to pull Connie with him. "It looked like molasses, only twice as sticky. We'll never get another cab in our entire lives."

Connie laughed. Laughed and laughed and, abruptly, sat down.

"What's happening?" Phil patted at her face, like a friendly kind of slap. "Are you dying?"

"No, bozo, I'm having a good time." Connie smiled. Her breath stank, and she had a rainbow sprinkle sticking out of her nose, but it was a beautiful smile. "I'm glad you're my partner."

"Me too." Phil patted Connie's face again. With affection, this time. "Now get up, I don't even want to think what you could be sitting in."


End file.
